


Ellekonge

by Gweezle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dubious Consent, Fae & Fairies, Hannibal is the Erlking, M/M, Magical bargains, References to Abduction/Rape, Will is a Sassy Little Muffin, because MAGIC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 12:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6657772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gweezle/pseuds/Gweezle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After getting lost in the woods on a cold, winter night, Will Graham is forced to make a bargain with a Fae called Abigail, and must face a creature from his past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ellekonge

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! I just wanted to warn you that I wrote this story in one day, (literally writing from dawn 'til dusk).
> 
> Here's what happened: I read something on Tumblr about the Fae, and while lying in bed I thought, 'Wouldn't it be cool if Hannibal was the Erlking?' And then I yelled at my brain to shut up, because I was literally almost done another short story - which will be published in May - and I didn't have time to write another one right now, but my brain went, 'Whoops! Sorry, dude. I already came up with the plot.' So I jotted down a few notes, went to sleep, and spent nearly three hours in the library the next morning writing, and then I came home and wrote the rest of it. And then I spent yesterday editing, and now I'm posting it.
> 
> Also, there's porn. Enjoy!

After the third time Will Graham passes the large oak tree with three broken branches, he finally admits to himself that he’s lost.

His breath fogs in front of him as he sets down his fishing rod and tackle box, and shoves his gloved hands into his pockets, once again rooting around for the Charm that isn’t there, and once again all he finds is his new raven feather fishing lure.

The sun has set, and the temperature is dropping rapidly. His feet are aching and starting to blister from his hours of wandering, and fear settles in his gut.

 _Pixie-led,_ his grandmother called it. She warned him multiple times never to wander into the forest alone, and to always carry iron with him to keep the Fae from leading him astray or capturing him. After his mother vanished, her warnings only became more insistent, and though his memories of that time aren’t very clear, he knows in his heart what happened to her.

The Fae Folk, The Good Neighbours, The People of Peace, Elves, Fairies – names used by mortals to define beings of unimaginable power and cruelty without offending them. Will knows how inaccurate these are. With the way his mind works, how can he not?

A tinkling laugh echoes through the forest, and he jumps, turning towards the sound.

A girl is there, leaning against a tree. Her hair is long and black. Her face pale and beautiful. She’s dressed in a warm, tan coat with a red and white checkered scarf wrapped around her neck. Her blue eyes shine like moonlight. She smiles at him, open and friendly. “Do you need help getting home?” she asks, perfectly pleasant.

Will knows what she is immediately. He backs away like a startled deer. “N-no! Thank you,” he stammers, then flinches at his own idiocy. _Thanking_ a Fae is tantamount to acknowledging a debt to one, and to be in debt to a Fae can be a fate worse than death.

The girl tilts her head, amused. “What a clever boy you are. You know what I am.” She steps out of the shadow of the tree, and under the moonlight her clothing melts away, replaced by a long, strapless gown weaved of white silk. A garland of Sweet William adorns her head, and Will stares at it in bewilderment.

Garlands are usually hung on doors to keep the Fae from entering a home. For this girl to wear one on her head means that she is not a weak Faery having a bit of fun with him, but something much more terrifying. As he stares, he notices what look like tiny antlers peeking out through her long hair.

“My name’s Abigail. What’s yours?” she asks casually.

“Will,” he says, and then bites down on his tongue. First thanking her, and now _giving her his name!_ It’s like his grandmother’s advice has disappeared from his mind. Of course, a Fae giving _their_ name, even a false one, is almost unheard of. His wariness is increasing with every second spent in the girl’s presence.

She tilts her head again, taking a step closer. “ _Will,_ I like it. Is it short for William?” She taps the garland with one long finger, amused again.

He doesn’t respond, watching her warily. He’s heard too many stories of the Fae coveting beautiful young men and women and stealing them away to make them their immortal lovers. He sometimes wonders if this is what fate befell his mother, and feels a strange urge to ask.

He doesn’t, though. Better to wonder forever than to have his question answered only to find himself in the same position. Of course, the girl in front of him looks far too young for his tastes. He knows she could easily be thousands of years old, but she appears younger than his students. If she was looking to tempt him, she would have used an older visage.

He takes a deep breath.

_Do not offend the Fae. Do _ **not**_ offend the Fae._

“Do you want something from me?” he asks, keeping his tone neutral. In his mind, he prays she was just looking for some momentary amusement, and will now fix the path and let him go home, but he can tell from the look in her eye that he isn’t so lucky.

She hums softly, staring up at the stars, and tapping one finger on her chin as if she has to seriously consider her answer.

Will’s hands tighten into fists, knowing he is being mocked, but helpless to stop it.

Abigail tires of her game and claps her hands together, her eyes shining with excitement. “There is _something_ I wish to ask of you, but it wouldn’t be very fair unless I do something for you first. So, I’ll ask again: Do you need help getting home?”

It’s hardly _fair,_ especially considering how the girl is most likely the reason the path he’s taken hundreds of times before has become impassable. He scowls at her before he can think better of it.

She laughs aloud, amused by his anger. Will doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not. At least she doesn’t appear to be insulted. Still, he smooths his expression into one of detachment, and gives himself a mental scolding.

“I’ll be fine,” he tells her, remembering this time not to add any words of thanks. It goes against his polite southern boy breeding, but his anger makes it easier.

Abigail tilts her head again, and Will is surprised to realize that she’s almost close enough to touch him. He goes to take another step back, but the look on her face makes him freeze. Cruel amusement flashes in her eyes, and he once again curses himself for forgetting his only protection at home.

“No you won’t. You’ll freeze to death before morning,” she states matter-of-factly.

He grits his teeth, thoroughly fed up with this girl – Fae or not – and deliberately turns away to continue walking, leaving his fishing rod and tackle box behind. His arms are already exhausted from toting them around for the last few hours, and if this is the end for him, it’s not like he’ll need them anymore. “Then if you don’t mind, I’m off to die _in peace._ ”

Abigail laughs again as he takes his first step, and suddenly she is in right front of him, smiling menacingly. “But what about your _dogs?_ ”

Will stops, feeling like ice-water is trickling through his veins. He’s been gone for most of the day. They must be hungry by now. Why hadn’t he brought them to the lake today?

He locks eyes with the girl and scoffs, knowing _exactly_ why he never brings his dogs into the forest with him. Any Fae worth their weight in gold would know to use them against him, just as she is now.

Abigail adopts a sympathetic look, circling him with her hand raised as if to brush a finger along his chest, but still not quite touching him. “They must be so hungry by now, so _thirsty._ How many days will they cry for you to come home before they finally starve to death? How long will it take before someone bothers to check on them?”

The answer is, of course, too long. It’s Winter Break. No one will wonder where he is until he misses too many classes, and they don’t even start for another two weeks. He has few friends, and the ones he _does_ have respect his need for space and privacy. He doubts anyone will even bother to call him until Christmas.

He glares at the girl, uncaring about being offensive when she has to gall to threaten the only family he has left.

“Fine!” he snaps, knowing he is basically selling his soul, but too angry and fearful to care anymore. If it was just him, he’d be fine with dying rather than submitting to a Fae’s desires, but with his dogs on the line, he has no other option.

He wonders if his mother had to make the same choice once, long ago.

Abigail lifts an eyebrow at him, smiling expectantly, and he holds out his hand for her to take, knowing what she wants, and barks out, “Take me home, _please!_ ” Then, as quickly as he can, he adds, “And let me make sure my dogs will be taken care of before you ask your favour.”

She grins and latches onto his arm, wrapping herself around it and leaning against him like a love-struck teenager. The thought makes him cringe, but there is no lust in her eyes, thank god.

He tries to bend down to pick up his fishing equipment, but the Fae stops him with ease. “They’ll be returned in the morning,” she reassures him airily. “Now let’s get you home before your toes fall off.”

They walk in silence, and slowly Will begins to recognize landmarks around him until he is almost sure he could make his way back on his own. He doesn’t dare say that aloud, though. The moment he tries to escape, he knows the trail will revert back to its previous state, and it’s unlikely the Fae will bother offering to help again. With that in mind, he endures her presence as she gazes up at him with triumph in her eyes.

“I’m so happy I caught you tonight,” she says out of the blue, startling him into looking at her. The honest pleasure in her voice is unnerving. She smiles at him, leaning her head against his shoulder and squeezing his arm a little tighter. “My father has been watching you for _years._ He’ll be so pleased when he hears about this.”

Will turns away, scowling at the uncooperative path.

Of course, just his luck that he somehow gained the attention of _two_ powerful Fae and didn’t even know until it was too late.

They arrive at the edge of the forest, and Will expects the girl to have to wait for him there, only to be shocked when she continues walking at a leisurely pace, still clinging to his arm.

“Come now! You’re almost home,” she chides, pulling him along as they stroll through the snowy field towards his house.

His wariness is back in full force. What kind of Fae can leave their land as easily as that? He knows Abigail is powerful, but this is just absurd! He doubts even the iron horseshoes he hangs on his doors will stop her from entering, and that makes him go cold.

That surprises him, because he’s sure he was _already_ cold, and then he realizes…he feels fine. His limbs aren’t aching with exhaustion from his long walk, and his toes aren’t burning with frostbite.

Suspicion blooms in his mind, but he knows better than to question a Fae’s motives.

They finally arrive at his house, and walk arm-in-arm up the stairs to his porch. He can hear his dogs barking inside, and relief nearly makes him collapse right then and there. Abigail holds him steady, amused again, and then lets go, folding her hands behind her back. She doesn’t bother approaching the door, seeming content to wait on the porch.

A _thank you_ slips out before he can think better of it, but it doesn’t really matter. He’s already indebted. Abigail smiles, and reminds him to come back outside when he’s finished.

He greets his dogs with unrestrained joy, petting them and enduring their slobbering and jumping as he lets them out for a bathroom break.

None of the dogs approach the Fae on his porch, though Winston does give her a suspicious look before trotting off to find a bush.

Will leaves the door open as he fetches the dogfood, and nervously glances outside every few seconds to check if Abigail is growing impatient. She seems perfectly fine with waiting, so he grabs his phone and sends a quick text to his neighbour saying that there was a family emergency and asking if she could check in on his dogs for the next little while.

With that taken care of, he takes a deep breath and steps outside.

Winston bounds up the stairs to lick at Will’s palm as if to ask for reassurance, and Will scratches his ears instinctively, knowing this may be the last time he’ll ever see him. Abigail says nothing, but the dog gives her another suspicious look and doesn’t leave Will’s side until the rest of the pack return to the house. Once the dogs are all inside, Will shuts the door and stands up straight, glaring at the girl who caused all this trouble.

She smiles at him, unfazed, and steps forward to take his hand again, leaning close to his ear as she finally makes her demands, “I held up my end of the bargain, and now I’ll ask you to do the same. In one week, when the moon is full, you will walk back into the forest with me to meet my father. You will not try to run, and you will leave your Charm behind, or I will be _most cross._ ”

Will flinches at the vehemence of her words, but nods sullenly. His fate is already sealed, but at least his dogs will be safe. That’s all that really matters to him.

Abigail pulls away with a smile, and fades from view just as the sun peeks over the horizon.

Will isn’t fooled. He has no doubt that the girl can walk in sunlight just as easily as moonlight, but he merely scoffs and goes back inside. He has little time to prepare.

 

On Christmas, his final day of freedom, he receives a call from Alana. They chat for a few minutes, and Will asks if she and Margot would be willing to look after his dogs for a little while. He doesn’t mention that he sent in his two-week’s notice the day after his run-in with the Fae. He doesn’t mention the Fae at all. Alana agrees, but he can tell she’s concerned.

By nightfall, Will is mostly resigned. For the first time he allows his dogs up onto his bed. They lie there together, warm and secure, until the clock strikes midnight.

Will senses a change in the air, and his eyes snap open. He’s unsurprised to see Abigail waiting for him on the porch. He stares longingly at his Charm – an iron pendant with red berries from a rowan tree wrapped around it – but leaves it on his bedside table as he steps outside to meet his fate.

Abigail looks thrilled to see him, and latches onto his arm with a grin. “Oh, good boy! You listened. Come along, now. Father will be so thrilled to see you!” She drags him down the porch steps and pulls him towards the forest.

The path is more winding than usual, and Will looks around with growing trepidation as the trees become less and less familiar. The full moon is brighter than he’s ever seen before, and he shivers under the unnatural illumination, wishing he’d had the sense to run when he had the chance.

After what seems like only a few moments, they arrive at their destination.

It’s a large, circular clearing outlined by mushrooms. A _fairy ring,_ his grandmother called them. She warned him never to pick or eat the mushrooms from one.

There are five beings inside it already, three sitting on gnarled tree stumps. To his right is a pale, hulking man with a scar on his face holding the hand of a dark-skinned woman with milky, sightless eyes. The man is misshapen, with great, leathery wings erupting from his back. The woman is dressed in golden leaves. They both look divine and horrible.

To his left is a gorgeous fair-haired woman – the kind of Fae that men are warned to avoid lest they be lured in by her beauty only to be forced into eternal servitude. She appears bored, sipping at a glass of red wine that matches her sleeveless gown.

In the centre of the ring is a throne made of bone and antlers. A golden chain erupts from the back, connecting to a matching collar wrapped around a woman’s neck. Her face is hidden by her long, curly, dark hair, and she holds a tray filled with food and wine. She’s barefoot, and wears only a simple cotton slip.

The final person Will sees makes him freeze in terror.

He appears middle-aged, with long, golden-brown hair cascading down to his shoulders. His face is tan and chiselled. Enormous black antlers adorn his head, looking sharp enough to rip through the sky. He wears a cloak embroidered with black feathers, and in his hand is a familiar trinket.

Will stares at the fishing lure, realizing he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d noticed its absence when his fishing rod and tackle box were returned to him, but he’d assumed he dropped it while wandering the forest. To see it in the grasp of this creature – _Ellekonge_ – _Der Erlkönig_ – The King of Elves – is unnerving. Will made it himself using a raven’s feather he found on the ground just a few days before meeting Abigail. He eyes the King’s cloak, wondering…

Abigail is nearly bouncing with excitement. “Look, Daddy! I brought a gift for you!”

The King’s eyes open, and Will sees they are as red as blood before his attention is diverted.

“ _Will!_ ”

He startles, looking back at the woman chained to the throne, and his mouth falls open when he finally sees her face.

“ _Mom?_ ”

She doesn’t look a day older than he remembers, except for her gray-blue eyes. They are filled with despair, and he feels the urge to hurt the ones who made them look like that.

She tears her gaze away from him to glare at the King. “You promised! You _swore_ to me that you wouldn’t go after him so long as I served you!”

And suddenly, Will _remembers._

He remembers a soft voice rousing him from sleep, calling to him from the forest. He remembers climbing out of bed and walking outside as if in a trance, mud coating his bare feet and splashing up the cuffs of his pyjama pants. He remembers awakening to the sound of his mother’s frantic calls, the shadow of a man with antlers urging him closer. “ _Come to me, Will. That’s a good boy. Come along, now._ ”

He remembers trembling in fear as the man approached, until his mother emerged from the trees and shoved her iron pendant into his hand and told him to, “ _Run! Run home, Will! Don’t look back!_ ”

Will comes out of the memory with a start, breathing heavily as he stares at the King.

 _My father has been watching you for_ **years.**

He’d thought Abigail meant her father had watched him since he moved to his house in Wolf Trap, but now he knows better.

The King smiles as if he can read every thought that passes through Will’s mind. Who knows? Maybe he can? Will glares at him, furious. He doesn’t care if this creature _is_ the Ruler of the Fae. He took away Will’s mother.

Abigail laughs, clutching at him a little tighter. “Now, now, Emmeline. Daddy honoured your agreement. You have his Word. _I’m_ the one your little boy bargained with.”

Insulted by the _little boy_ remark, he scowls at her. “Well, if _someone_ hadn’t left an enchanted feather on my lawn that made me forget my Charm at home, I wouldn’t have needed to!”

Abigail smiles up at him, once again completely unfazed by his anger. “If ifs and buts were candy and nuts, we’d all have a merry Christmas!” she recites smugly.

His scowl intensifies, and he tries to pull away from her. She keeps hold of him with little effort however, and drags him closer to the King. “Come on. Stop struggling. I can still kill your puppies if you go back on your Word.”

He stops fighting, but he can’t _stand_ the thought of letting her get the better of him so easily. “You’re a fool if you think he’ll finally love you now.”

This time, it’s _Abigail_ who freezes in place, and when she looks him in the eye, he can see she’s seconds away from ripping him apart.

He sneers at her, not afraid to pour salt on that wound. “Guess immortality isn’t a cure for daddy issues, is it Abby?”

She shrieks, and the sound is nearly deafening, but before she can even do anything, the hulking dragon-man has her in his grasp and is pulling her away even as she claws at his arms. The woman in the golden gown looks ready to join him in subduing her, but remains seated, tutting under her breath at the shrieking child. The Fae on the left finally seems mildly interested in her surroundings, sipping her wine as she observes Abigail’s breakdown. And the King…

The King starts _laughing._

The sound stops everyone in their tracks. Even Abigail quiets down to stare at him.

“Abigail,” he rumbles. His accent is like nothing Will has ever heard, and he stares as the King plucks a grape from the tray of food Will’s mother is still holding. She gives him a look of disgust, and seems to give serious thought to bashing the tray across his face.

He leans back in his throne and peels the grape, staring at Will, but speaking to his daughter. “You have been a very good girl for me, and I _am_ grateful, but if you ever try to harm William Edric Graham again, I will slice open your throat and drink your blood. Understand?” He turns and raises one elegant eyebrow in the girl’s direction.

Abigail cowers, meekly lowering her head in deference. “Yes, Father. I will obey you always.”

The King smiles and pops the grape into his mouth. “Excellent. Now, leave. I wish to be alone with my guest.”

The dragon-man, his (Wife? Lover?), and Abigail depart into the surrounding trees immediately. The bored Fae detaches the chain from the King’s throne and pulls at Will’s mother like a dog as she struggles to get to him.

“No! Will! Run away!” she chokes out.

Will steps forward, unable to take his eyes off her. “Wait! Please, can’t I just–” He looks at the King, pleading with his eyes.

The King smirks. “Bedelia,” he calls, and the gorgeous woman stills in surprise. “Let us give mother and son a moment to themselves.”

The chain is dropped, and before he can even register what’s happened, his mother is holding him tightly. Her lips brush against his ear as she whispers urgently. “ _Run! Please, Will! You have to get away from him!_ ”

The King laughs again, catching them off-guard. He somehow manages to look elegant even as he slouches in his throne.

“Really, Emmeline? Do you think I would make the same mistake twice? There is no escape for him this time.” He turns his attention to Will, red eyes drilling into his soul. “Every path you take will lead you right back to me. You have no Charms to protect you. Your mother cannot save you. Now, come here. I have waited a very long time to get to know you, Will Graham, and I will not be denied your company any longer.”

Emmeline stands in front of Will, trying to shield him from the King’s sight, but with a wave of his hand, she collapses to the ground, clutching at her throat as the golden collar tightens around it.

Will drops down beside her with a fearful cry, pulling at the collar with his fingers as she struggles to breathe. She mouths the word, _run,_ but he looks up at the King in desperation.

“Stop it! Stop it! I’ll do whatever you want! Just _stop it!_ ” he begs.

The King smiles at him, and seconds later Emmeline is coughing and taking deep breaths as the collar loosens. Will hugs her, close to tears at the thought of losing her again so soon after getting her back.

“Bedelia,” the King says, and Will can do nothing but watch helplessly as his mother is pulled away from him and dragged kicking and screaming into the forest.

The King leans forward, gazing at Will as the man pulls himself to his feet. “Perfect. Now, come to me.”

Will glares at him, too furious to think straight. “What? Do your legs not work or something? Why don’t _you_ come over _here?_ ”

He blinks, and suddenly the King is standing directly in front of him.

Will flinches back, aware that he just _mouthed off_ to the _King of the Elves!_

But the King seems more amused than offended.

“Such a clever tongue you have. I wonder what it tastes like.”

Before he can even contemplate what that means, their lips collide. Mouth opening in surprise, he feels the King’s tongue snake its way inside, and bites down.

The King doesn’t even flinch as blood seeps out of the wound and runs down their chins. He keeps his arms around Will until the man stops struggling, and finally pulls away with a triumphant grin. “Just as delicious as I expected.”

Will’s chest heaves as he tries to process what just happened. A second later, they’re seated on the throne face-to-face as he straddles the King.

“Your Majesty,” he says, hoping to make up for his previous discourtesy. He suspects the King will only tolerate so much. “What is it you want from me?”

“Hannibal,” the King says, brushing back his curls. “Call me Hannibal. And I think it should be obvious what I want.” He digs his fingers into Will’s hips and pulls him closer, until Will can feel the King’s arousal through his cloak.

“Hannibal,” he repeats dutifully in a strained voice. “Why are you doing this?”

Hannibal smiles. “I have desired you like this from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

Will reels back. “That’s disgusting! I was a child!”

“You are still a child,” Hannibal says. “I am as old as the stars, Will. A few decades means nothing to me.”

That’s hardly the point, but Will isn’t foolish enough to argue when it won’t do any good. The morality of a being as old as Hannibal is nothing like a human’s. Laws about age of consent and power imbalances in relationships are not things they dwell on. They know how to manipulate people to get what they want, and think nothing of using their powers to make bargains go in their favour. He knows this firsthand now.

He slumps forward, resting his head on Hannibal’s shoulder, and the King wraps his feathered cloak around Will’s body. It’s strangely comforting, and he turns his face into the crook of Hannibal’s neck.

“I am glad I waited, though. You are even more beautiful now than you were when we first met.”

Will shivers, remembering that moment. “You took my mother away. I thought she was dead.”

“And now you can be with her forever.”

“You can still kill her. You almost did.”

“You needed a demonstration.” Hannibal cups his face and maneuvers him until they are looking into each other’s eyes. “Stay with me, and I will never harm her again. Love me, and I will give you everything you have ever desired. If you try to escape, I will be forced to chain you.” He runs a finger down Will’s Adam’s apple. “You would look beautiful with a collar, Will, but I would much prefer you wear it willingly.”

Will shudders, suddenly aroused. “What does it matter? I made my bargain. I knew what fate could befall me, and I accepted the risks. I’m yours now.”

“You’ve always been mine.” Hannibal kisses him again, and this time Will kisses back.

Will wishes the King was cruel – it would make it easier to hate him – but every touch is gentle and pleasing. His head falls back as Hannibal traces his tongue down his neck, and he shudders from the cold as his clothes suddenly vanish.

The King has on nothing but his feathered cloak, and Will huddles underneath it, shielding his nudity from the eyes of the forest as the King opens him up with his long fingers, making him arch his back and gasp.

“Ask me for something,” the King entreats breathlessly, gazing at his lover.

Will doesn’t answer immediately, too caught up in his pleasure, but it only takes him a second to think of something.

“Free my mother from her chains. Stop treating her like a slave.”

“It will be done,” Hannibal says, stroking himself. “Ask me for something else.”

Will moans at the sight, and spreads his legs wider.

“Let me keep my dogs. Don’t let Abigail kill them.”

“Of course. She won’t touch a hair on their heads. Nothing in my forest will harm them.” He lines himself up against Will in preparation, mesmerized by the sounds that emerge from the man’s mouth as he does so. “Ask me for your heart’s desire. Ask me and I will give it to you.”

Will’s legs tremble with the effort of kneeling for so long, and he gives his final command. “I want you to fuck me!”

Hannibal doesn’t answer verbally this time, but Will is most satisfied by his response.

He digs his fingernails into Hannibal’s shoulders and tosses his head back. The King fills him until he thinks he can’t take anymore, and then he learns that he can. His cries echo all around them. He wonders how much longer he can last, and then his orgasm is washing over him. He collapses, shuddering as the King continues thrusting inside him a moment longer before filling him with his essence.

Hannibal strokes his hair and gently massages his back. When Will’s scalp starts burning, he almost doesn’t notice. He reaches up in time to feel antlers emerging from his head, smaller than the King’s, but larger than Abigail’s.

He groans, silently begging Hannibal for comfort as the pain increases. The King obliges, holding him until his transformation is complete. Part of him wonders why he ever feared this so much.

They stay like that for a long time, basking underneath the moonlight until Will finally breaks the silence.

“So, when can we go pick up my dogs?”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was something. I don't usually write much in terms of fantasy, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone, and sometimes you just gotta write what your brain tells you to.
> 
> If you're confused about anything in this story, please leave a comment, and I'll explain as best I can. I was in a bit of a rush, so the details might not be very clear.
> 
> I'll probably put out at least one short story per month until I finish the first draft of Mania, (I'm on Chapter 9, and going strong), but it's going to be a while yet. I hope these satisfy you guys for now.
> 
> Adieu, my faithful readers.


End file.
